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Morning Hollow

In the silver morning hollow

Trembling and getting old

Smelling burnt oil of heaven

About ten years, too big to holdShe don't get up when I come into the room

She don't run through the fields anymoreBuilt a fire in the kitchen

Made her bed by a stove

Took a walk to the graveyard

But she didn't want to goShe don't worry all them murders of crows

Even though they was always out of reachShe don't get up when I come into the room

She don't run through the fields anymore

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